Ulfberht
Ulfberht is of medium size for a dwarf (as far as height goes...) but seems to be crafted from the mountains he calls his home. He has reddish hair and a beard that is braided - the hair and the beard. His armor, weapons, hair, and beard are adorned with small good luck charms, tokens, and trophies. Very superstitious by nature, he has stayed in bed for an entire day because of a bad omen in fear of the bad luck that would otherwise result. At his side is his faithful companion, Bhyfeicgh the forge hound (pronounced "beefy". very similar to a cairn terrier - small, gray, tenacious). Pretty much a tuft of fur with bright black eyes and teeth. The story of Ulfberht (Work in progress): 1 The ringing of hundreds of hammers on anvils slowly quieted as word of the final test spread. Only the roar of the fire elemental-heated forges remained. Sooty, bearded faces craned over and around each other trying to get a view of the two silhouetted and sweating figures standing at their glowing forge openings. The first candidate took his glowing bar of steel from the furnace. He walked confidently to a barrel of dark, viscous liquid and plunged the proto sword into it. A gout of flame shot up and a loud hiss issued forth from the barrel. The smith pulled the blade from its bath with a tentative smile creasing his face. As he held the blackened steel in front of him to inspect it, an audible *ping* rang forth from the blade. The crowd groaned in sympathy as the young candidate’s shoulder slumped. He dropped his tools onto the bench and began to walk out of the smithy – another year of apprenticeship ahead of him. The crowd parted, making a blackened aisle to guide his way, no one meeting his downcast eyes. Easily 20,000 hammer blows and weeks of grueling work all for naught. The second potential master smith stood at the forge humming a dwarven battle hymn, and occasionally barking out commands in Ignan, the language of the fire elemental trapped inside the forge. “Hotter.. Hotter… Hotter…. HOLD! Hold it there…” the smith ducked down and peered into the roaring inferno, his eyes squinting against the heat. “Why doesn’t he quench the steel?” a voice could be heard to whisper, quickly shushed by another observer. A ritual chant to Torag, god of the forge could be heard from the smith as he turned the blade over and over in the heat, watching carefully. The volume of the prayer increased as did the motion of the steel in the forge. The smith suddenly took a step back pulling the glowing bar from the heat and with a single motion plunged the bar into the barrel of black oil. With the sound of a scalded cat the steel shrieked against the sudden change, its crystalline structure straining against itself in a battle of controlled stress. The young dwarf continued his chant to the stern god of dwarves as the flames danced on the surface of the oil. Pulling the blade from the barrel, the dwarf held the blade up, blowing out the remaining, tenacious, and thickly smoking flames. As the moments went by, and all strained for the tell-tale sounds of a failed quench, glowing runes momentarily appeared on the rough surface of the metal. They lasted no longer than a few seconds but were witnessed by all. The crowd erupted in jubilant cheers as the realized that they had witnessed not only the forging of what was destined to be a great and mighty blade, but also the spiritual forging of what was destined to be a great and mighty cleric of their powerful god. 2 Ulfberht’s eyes snapped open at first low growl from the throat of the small, gray terrier laying in his lap, his alert nose pointed up the tunnel. “Quiet, Bhyfeicgh.” Whispered the dwarf as he reached for his hammer and shield, nudging the metal-clad companion next to him. Down the line of resting dwarves the signal passed. Weapons were hefted, and crossbows loaded as the patrol silently made ready for battle. With a silence that belied their heavily armored bulk, the dwarves slid into the hollows and crevices along the naturally-formed cavern, crossbows ready for an initial volley. The same eyesight that permitted the dwarves to see the variations of heat at the forge also served them to see in the total darkness of the deep underdark. Their eyes straining, the lead dwarves could begin to make out figures walking boldly up the middle of the passage, weapons in their hands and their temperature warmer than the surrounding rock. Eventually, eight figures came into sight - seemingly unaware of the hidden patrol. Two dark figures - apparently dwarven, although hunched and furtive in their carriage, their skin dark, as if rubbed with ash - led 5 shambling, chained dwarves with a guard following behind with a crossbow drawn and loaded. Duergar... Knuckles whitened as the hiding ambushers tightened their grip on their weapons when the ancestral enemies of the surface dwarves were recognized.